


shut your mouth (stand and deliver)

by shellsinsand



Series: the consequences of light [6]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Third Shinobi War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 08:43:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18465469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellsinsand/pseuds/shellsinsand
Summary: Kushina might, just a little, have a problem with rushing headlong into danger.





	shut your mouth (stand and deliver)

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I am working on the strange idea of continuous living. It's just...slow & I am bad at focusing.

There’s blood in her mouth; it’s hard to tell now if it’s hers or someone else’s. All of it pales in comparison to the harsh rasp of air into her lungs, the burn of lactic acid in her limbs. She spits, throws a shuriken behind her. There’s a wet squelch. Her fist forces a cavity into the chest of the man in front of her. She feels the heat of a jutsu and drops, slamming her fists to the mud. The stench is nearly unbearable, dirt and blood and oil, but the wall buys her a few seconds to breathe.

Kushina might, just a little, have a problem with rushing headlong into danger. She likes to think she comes by the tendency honestly – the Uzumakis are not known for their strategizing – but she’ll be the first to admit (here, in this precise moment) that it is maybe not the best approach to fighting a war. It would explain a lot about she wound up half a mile behind Iwa lines, fighting a squad of Rock chunin, rather than safely blowing their ammunition bunker and sneaking back to her rendezvous point with Minato. Yeah, he’s going to be pissed. She stakes her kunai in the ground and forms a familiar hand sign. A startled cry goes up behind her.

“Shadow clone, bitch,” she mutters, and grins at one of her reflections; its eyes are red. Kurama roars and she gives into the urge to howl back as she bursts over the wall.

“Jinchuriki,” the girl sneers, as the clones circle her. Kushina has to give her props for not even trying to run. Behind them, someone screams.

“That’s classified,” she says, and throws a kunai as she leaps.

The fight loses its coherency after that; drawing on fancy tail’s chakra always makes it rawer, more sensory. The girl is good for a chunin, and Kushina can smell the smoke on her, the blood. There’s the clash of metal, the slickness of mud in her sandals. Another clone puffs out of existence and is immediately replaced. The flash of knowledge that hits her – a man is dead, the girl’s left shoulder is bleeding in the back, Kurama is laughing. She’s burning. Minato is going to be so so pissed. Suddenly, the girl is the last one left. Kushina slides to a stop and drags in a rough inhale. The clones, as one, disappear.

“You did your country proud, kid,” she says. The girl’s not good enough to hide the way her shoulder’s bunch, the tension in her calves. As she spins Kushina ducks under her left guard and drives a kunai into her chest. The sound of a body falling is different from that of a person. Kushina takes one breath, then another.

The battle hadn’t started in a clearing – but they’d made one and the rain is cool on her face. It’s stupid to linger, but the nine tails is still pushing on the seal and this kind of carnage deserves a witness. They’d been kids and her decisions meant they’d had to die. They’d been the enemy and had to die. They’d been people. She closes her eyes, takes one breath, then another.

“Find peace,” she says, and then limps back into the trees. The rain slowly leaches the blood into the ground.

\--

Minato is pissed.

Granted, if her girlfriend stumbled out of a tree and into her not-even-slightly-bloody uniform while covered in an unholy mix of mud, blood, and viscera after what was not even supposed to be a combat mission, Kushina would too be a little pissed. But her last girlfriend was nine years ago, and now she’s got a level-headed boyfriend whose plans always seem to work, so. Really, Minato knew what he was signing up for.

“You got yourself into this,” she says, squints a little bit when his face wavers. She can’t tell if it’s from anger or her chakra exhaustion; he’s definitely an unflattering shade of red. “Are you moving?”

“Kushina,” he says, and ooooh that’s the _what-have-you-done_ voice cooked in _I-was-so-worried_ with a healthy splash of _I’m-going-to-murder-you_ dumped right on top. She needs to stop thinking in food analogies. “What _happened_?”

“Iwa squad; I took care of it.” She blinks, tries to transfer more of her weight onto his shoulder without being obvious. There’re a lot of dots suddenly, now that she’s not moving.

“What did –“

“Mm, sorry, babe,” she closes her eyes, presses her forehead into his chest. “Passing out now,” she mumbles, and never let it be said that Kushina Uzumaki lies to her comrades.

\--

They’re moving when she comes to, the steady cadence of Minato’s feet against the ground buzzing against the edge of her awareness. Her chakra’s settled, so he must have given her at least part of a soldier pill, and she spends a minute inspecting Kurama’s chains. He’s sprawled out, but doesn’t do more than blink at her (small mercies) and nothing looks cracked. She takes stock of her body next, wiggling her fingers and flexing her ankles, before prying her eyes open.

“You look like a cat when you do that,” Minato says. There’s a pause, a tension in his shoulders, but he fills the space easily when she doesn’t take it. “We’re still an hour or two out, unless you want to run. No sign of anyone having followed you over the line, and I bbumped into Fugaku’s squad…”

She keeps half an ear on what he’s saying, but relaxes back into a slump, hooking her chin over his shoulder. If she were a better person, she’d make him put her down and walk. It’s strength and chakra he’ll need later – the odds that he’s in Konoha longer than it takes to drop her at the hospital, debrief, and eat are almost zero. Selfishly, she wants to be close to him just a little longer (even if she smells like a corpse at present).

“…you were out for five hours – an hour to get back past the lines, an hour to stop and check you over, and north ever since. What happened?” He sounds calmer now, for all his grip on her legs is too tight, so at least fainting was good for something.

“I blew the bunker, but ran across an Iwa chunin after.” She sighs, presses her face into his neck for a beat. “Avoiding him would have taken time I didn’t want to spare.” He snorts. “Laugh it up. I knocked him out no problem, Dattebane!” It had been awesome, and Maki-sensei could suck it; she could totally do stealth. “Buuuuut I didn’t realize he was the scout for a squad until they were up my ass.” More accurately, until she’d narrowly dodged a shuriken to the head, but close enough. “I might have – well – I sort of…”

“Have been using the Kyuubi’s chakra?”

“That, yeah.”

It’s somewhat of an open secret now, among Konoha’s upper ranks that Kushina is the jinchuriki. Turns out war is the kind of activity that demands a lot of chakra, and a tailed beast’s chakra is pretty distinctive if you know what you’re looking for, not to mention the distinct difference in killing intent. Outside of the village, and even among Konoha’s civilians, there are a number of rumors. The most popular one, irritatingly enough, is that the Konoha jinchuriki is a _man_.

(“I’m putting a standing kill order on any non-Leaf shinobi that witnesses you use the Kyuubi in any fashion,” the Third had told her. It had been a sunny day, spring not quite breaking into summer. “We lose a valuable asset in the field if the world discovers you.” Five week later, war had officially been declared with Iwa.)

“I took care of it,” she says. “You know it gets harder. It’s just all there, and soldier pills are too valuable to waste on me.” He hums, but doesn’t say anything, steady underneath her; the tension’s gone from his shoulders. They make it another mile. She kicks him gently in the thigh after they cross the creek. “I’ll walk.”

He sets her down, and she only sways a little. Chakra exhaustion, the vertigo that follows, is a well-known companion at this point. She hardly even blinks, just wraps an arm around Minato’s waist for balance and keeps moving. Her uniform has stiffened in a truly disgusting fashion and she can still taste the iron in her mouth. Minato keeps her close anyway, one arm tight around her shoulders, their strides matching after only a few steps.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, when she’s half dozed off, feet moving on autopilot. His mouth is hot against her temple, the warmth lingering after he’s gone. “I’ll annoy some caution into you yet, just wait.”

“Shinobi,” she yawns. There’s more to that sentence somewhere, about this war and coincidences and never leaving, but words are a lot of work. She squeezes his waist and hopes he gets the message. They put one foot in front of the other – eventually, the walls of Konoha tumble out of the woods to greet them. She stops.

“Wait, carry me,” she says.

“Okay, why?” he asks, but he’s already turning around. She hops up on his back with none of her usual grace, and he staggers a little. Kami, it’s been forever since they’ve been out of the field.

“Because, if I look really pathetic, you can take me straight to the hospital and we can get a nap in.” That gets him to laugh, bright and clear.

“I love you,” he says, and kisses the side of her forearm.

“Obviously, now look worried. We need to sell this.”

\--

“We could skip the hospital,” she says, once Minato is done nodding to the lookouts on duty and has leapt back onto the rooves. “You’re fine, I just need a nap, we could –“

“You’ve been stabbed twice, have second degree chakra burns on your hands, and are running on half a soldier pill.”

“I’m fine, dattebane!” She shoves his cheek lightly with her knuckles. Kurama might be a pain in her ass, but there weren’t many infections that wanted to fuck with a tailed beast’s container. “You bandaged me up yourself.”

“You’re cleaning the bathroom.”

“Oh you sneaky son of a bitch.” He’d probably been planning on going home anyway. “Dattebane – I love your mother. Son of a swamp. Fine, I’ll clean the bathroom.” She tries to sulk, but the prospect of a nap in her own bed is too good for her to properly commit. A shower, a nap, and a real meal – she’d clean the ANBU locker room at this point. Besides, she can’t begrudge Minato the extra twenty minutes of sleep; he did carry her most of the way home.

“The gate looked busy,” Minato says, dropping down to perch on the rail of their balcony. She clambers off his back and immediately starts stripping. “And the hawk calling us back wasn’t urgent. Four hours, you think?” He looks down at her, blinks a little to only find her in her tank top and underwear; she grins.

“More, if Rin’s working the hospital shift.” She pokes at her uniform with her foot, nudging it into somewhat of a pile. “They can find us.” The chakra seal on their door breaks with a slight pop when she touches it. “Give me ten minutes head start,” she says, gesturing the mess of a bun on top of her head. One day, she swears, she’s going to chop it all off out of convenience. “Then I’ll share.” He’s gone back to watching the horizon, head cocked like he’s listening for something.

“Hey, babe,” she says, poking him in the stomach until he turns to look at her. He shakes his head a little, eyes clearing, and catches her hand.

“Yes, hi, I’m here.”

“We are showering, eating, sleeping.” She points her other finger at him threateningly. “Do not screw this up, Namikaze.” He smiles.

“I would never.”

“Humph.” She’s heard that one before – damn overachiever. There’s nothing for it though, so she heads inside. One of the brats must have been by – they’ve all been grounded since the bridge mission three months ago – because there’s hardly any dust on the counters. The water hardly takes anytime to heat up and the first wash of it over her head is euphoric. Sweet, sweet, blessed plumbing. The task of detangling and picking debris out of her hair is less pleasant, but she’s nearly got the water running clear by the time Minato wanders into the bathroom.

“Cold air,” he says, before pulling the curtain back to poke his head in. His eyes flicker over her, smile going lazy in a way that reminds her how long it’s been since they’ve had time to do anything beyond hastily make out. “Less biohazard than I expected.”

“Well get in,” she says. He does – tan skin, broad shoulders, and…holding a smoothie. The moment fractures around her and she nearly slips laughing, lets him maneuver her out of the spray and press the glass into her hand. He even put a straw in it.

“You need the food,” he says, smiling goofily at her as he tips his head back into the water. “And you always hog the shower – I needed a distraction.”

“Hey!” It might be a little bit true, but it’s the principle that matters. She takes a sip of the smoothie – mango and watermelon – and drinks the whole thing almost without noticing. Minato only laughs at her a little when he takes the glass back.

“Finish your hair – I’ll do your back after.” She’s too sleepy with the food and steam (and chakra exhaustion) to argue. Another thorough round of shampoo takes care of her hair – bless – and she peals the bandage off her left forearm so she can rinse out the wound. It’s fairly shallow. She doesn’t remember when it happened, but it won’t need stitches.

“Alright,” she says, pulling her hair over her shoulder, and bracing her hands in front of her. “Do your worst.” The knife in the back she vividly remembers, the sound of her vest ripping and the drag of metal over her shoulder blade. It’s not deep – but it’s long and hurts like hell. Minato, thankfully, is a pretty good nurse. (None of them had the luxury of not being good nurses at this point). He soaps down the rest of her back before going for the bandage, working the tape off of her skin gently.

“Well,” he says, fingers ghosting down the edge of the cut, “it’s not inflamed, but you’ve got enough of a scab that your bone isn’t visible anymore.” He presses a kiss to the nape of her neck. “However,” he says, pauses, skates his fingers down to her hips, “You’re definitely going to ruin a towel.” She huffs a laugh, smacking one of his hands.

“Smooth,” she says, turns around to loop her hands around his neck. She might be bleeding on him a little – but he definitely deserves it. “Take me to bed,” she says, tilting her head up for a kiss. He does.     


End file.
